


http://www.oocities.org/briargoeth/roll.html

by iskierka



Category: angel the tv series
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:05:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskierka/pseuds/iskierka





	http://www.oocities.org/briargoeth/roll.html

Words. I like words. I like the way they taste in my mouth. Mmm. wrff-fooffle. Trussed. Lampshade. Taco, yeah. Cascade. Reminds me of Boise, Idaho. Holy Barbers! Why, I remember bein' there once. Yep. Was kinda cold. Salmon fishies swimming upstream. Or downstream, I can't remember. No, but I do! I do remember!! I'm remembering, which is kinda good probably. 

Salmon's one of those words. With the quiet silent ones. It's always the quiet ones. They get lost in the letters 'n nobody knows they're there.Saaah- Mon. Pneumonia. Psychadelia. Hmm, don't sound right. Ohh, sound. I like the way it sounds here. Chirp. Chirp-chirp. I can hear the birdies outside my window. 

I'm lyin' down sideways on a bed lookin' out the window. It's just gorgeous. Hearin' them. Over there, even the cows...had this thing. With their throats. Ooh, I mean people. People. WIth a scrunched up kinda unnh ehhhhrruhhmmm full of...something. In their throats. Never went away, not when you were asking someone to please pass the the dung-cart, or to beg for more slop. Horsy-like, and raspy. God, I hate that place. Though I really was getting close to makin' a kinda cake. From thistles. No, wait- grashog. NO, that's right. Thistles. A berry cake, sorta. Would've been delicious. I wonder if he eats cake? 

Feels kinda raggedy, being here. Back. Where I don't belong. Gosh, it feels like I was stuck there for decades. A long, long time. No books, not ever. That was the pits. Shitty pits. Bloody pits. Tar-like. Hairy armpits. No cherries, though. 

Ain't gonna miss nothing. Not the uglies, no *nothing.* 'Cept maybe the two suns... 

Two suns. Hey!!! Twosunstwosunstwosuns- Twoosun. That's a place, I think. 

Sometimes I'd just lie awake in mud, and stare at the cave-wall looking for the meaning. How to get there. Wherever it was. And the little burriks, no, ticks. Tick-lishes, would keep on biting. Just keep biting, damn pesky. I'd look at the patterns that weren't there, and make up nonsense about make-believe worlds where there'd be dozens of books all in one nook, and soft things that smelled awful nice, and *god* there'd be vowels...loads of 'em, and there'd be me. There, too.

I'd invent words, sometimes. Nice words. Fancy, long ones with millions of vowels. Rolling on my tongue like molasses. Couldn't make up enough. There'd be days when I'd think something far-out cool like "towel" would be real. Halcyon. Orchid. Rendezvous. Ooh, it's got those quiet ones. Yeah. Fantabulous. Loverly. Sometimes I'd even say 'em out loud. 

fic index


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